


Finding her to say goodbye.

by helenlath



Category: Holby City
Genre: Acceptance, F/F, Five Stages of Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22172830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenlath/pseuds/helenlath
Summary: Serena is consumed with remorse after her outburst in which she told Cameron that his mother deserved to die. She realises that she hasn't been able to accept Bernie's death and the grief and anger she is experiencing  has caused bitterness regarding Elinor's death to resurface  On her return to work an unexpected email provides her with the opportunity to say goodbye to Bernie and find some peace. .
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13
Collections: The Final Countdown





	Finding her to say goodbye.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never felt compelled to write fanfiction before. However, before the writers of Holby City send Serena off into the sunset, this is how I imagine she could leave Holby.

December 31st 2019  
There is such bewilderment and pain in Cameron’s eyes as Serena spits out the words. “There was nothing honourable about your mother’s death. She was blown to pieces by some random nutter with an RPG, just a stupid white woman tilting at windmills in a foreign land which neither wanted nor cared about her and she should never have been there. She got what she deserved. As did that murdering, drug-dealing bitch. Some people deserve to die. Do you understand?”  
“I’m beginning to.”  
“I suggest you go back to work.” He nods, leaves without speaking, closes the door quietly.  
She holds in the palm of her hand the two military tags which he has just given her, each carrying the identical details: O Pos 0881234 Wolfe BG. The inscriptions are blurred as tears fill her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry,” though to whom she is sorry, she can’t be sure. To Cameron, to Bernie, to a God she doesn’t believe it?  
Grief feels like fear, and fear generates anger. When she is angry she lashes out at those dear to her. And Cameron is dear to her, a good, promising young doctor but more than that, a little bit of Bernie, proof that she once was. She hurt Bernie in the same way after Elinor died, lashing out with cruel words so that Bernie might suffer too. Today she chose to save the life of a sixty year old father rather than the young woman who supplied Elinor with the drugs which led to her death. Ironic that the father lost his daughter today and must now live the remainder of his life with that pain, while the cause of all this grief has now left the world, on Serena’s watch, with no chance of atonement or redemption.  
Serena is so angry with Jay, for dealing, with Elinor for buying, with Bernie for leaving, and her grief is for two the young lives wasted today; transcending all of this, the all consuming grief for Bernie, without whom she doesn’t really want to carry on living. She lays her head on her arms on the desk, like a weary child in school, and howls. 

Later, more composed, she speaks to Ric and Max, takes the latter’s advice to go home. The house is silent. It’s New Year’s Eve. The rest of the world might be partying but Serena is alone with her thoughts. She’s not hungry, but forces down a slice of toast to absorb the wine she has poured. She flicks through her phone to find photos of Elinor and Bernie, smiling, passes and hour just gazing at their faces, trying to recall the sound of their voices, their scent, their touch. Then the phone in her hand rings, startling her out of her reverie. It is Jason.  
“Hello Auntie Serena. Were you alright at work today, it being the anniversary of Elinor’s death?”  
“I was alright Jason,” she lies.  
“Greta and I would like to visit you tomorrow,” he comes straight to the point. There is no small talk with Jason. “You said you are not working on New Year’s Day.”  
“No, I’m not working.”  
“Then we will arrive at twelve. Guinevere has her lunch at twelve thirty. It’s  
Wednesday, so that’s shepherd’s pie day. Greta has made one, we will bring it with us.”  
“That will be lovely.”  
“Goodnight Auntie Serena.”  
She sighs. Forces herself to count her blessings. She no longer has a mother, a daughter, or a lover, but she has a nephew, and a niece-in-law and a great niece.  
Though it is only ten o’ clock she goes to bed to sleep away the turmoil of the day. 

January 1st 2020

Serena awakes to a leaden sky which perfectly matches her frame of mind. The acute grief of yesterday has given way to the heavy weight of apathy. The thought of rising from her bed and dressing is too much and so she lies under the duvet, reliving the previous day.  
“I’m so, so sorry, Bernie.”  
“What for?” she imagines Bernie replying.  
“I told Cameron you deserved to die, that there was nothing heroic about your death. I was wrong. You did what to you had to do.”  
“I know.”  
“These last few months have been so hard. What am I going to do without you?”  
“Finish my work.” The voice is all in her own head, of course, but it sounds so real she can almost believe that it’s Bernie speaking. She speaks sternly to herself.  
“Serena Campbell, stop fantasizing. Yesterday was difficult, more than difficult, but it’s over. Today is a new day and a new year. Your great niece is coming to visit so get up and put on some lipstick and a smile.” 

Who can help but smile when there is a toddler in the house? Serena searches Guinevere’s face for a likeness to Elinor, but she is all Greta, her mother. Greta is a good mother, Serena can see that. Guinevere is well loved and cared for. She adores her daddy and Jason reciprocates. Greta and Jason individually have their difficulties engaging with the world but together they make a good team, understand and help one another. Guinevere might question their adherence to strict routine when she is older, but at present all is well. Serena acknowledges silently that her proximity is no as necessary to their well being as she once imagined it would be.  
The shepherd’s pie which Greta is made is good. Greta is a good cook, so long as she has a recipe to follow. Serena realises that she is hungry and eats with relish. Mindful of her responsibilities she eschews wine. After the meal Greta takes Guinevere to clean her hands. Jason takes the opportunity to speak.  
“Auntie Serena.”  
“Yes Jason, what is it.”  
“I understand that yesterday being the anniversary of Elinor’s death you must be feeling very sad.”  
Serena nods and smiles sadly at him.  
“Do you remember when we visited Elinor’s grave together?”  
“I do Jason.”  
“We cried together.”  
“Jason, where is this leading? Do you want to visit Elinor’s grave again? Then go, but you will have to go alone. I was there yesterday and I couldn’t face going again today.”  
“No Auntie Serena, I don’t want to visit Elinor’s grave. Auntie Bernie doesn’t have a grave, does she? I know that you and Cameron scattered her ashes, but it’s not really the same is it? The ashes will all have blown away by now. You didn’t see her before she was cremated did you.”  
“No-one did. Cam was told to remember her as she was. The bomb, it had blown her to pieces.” Serena’s voice cracked. Jason placed his hand over hers.  
“I don’t usually touch people, but I think you need me to hold your hand.”  
“Oh Jason, what would I do without you?”  
“I don’t know. When Mum died I didn’t want to see her. I’d never seen a dead person. I was scared. I’ve seen lots of bodies now, of course, working at the hospital. I wouldn’t be scared now. Alan told me that I should see Mum. He said that it would help me to accept that she was dead.”  
Greta and Guinevere’s return put a stop to the conversation, but Serena takes note of Jason’s words.  
Jason, Greta and Guinevere leave punctually at twenty minutes past four so as to be home in plenty of time for Guinevere’s supper and bath time. After waving them goodbye Serena opens a bottle of Shiraz, sinks onto the sofa and ponders Jason’s words. There is some wisdom in that young man, she thinks. It’s not so much about a grave as about saying goodbye.  
The stages of grieving; she’s gone through them all too often with relatives. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression. Finally, acceptance. There’s a lightbulb moment of self understanding. She speaks aloud, the better to articulate her thoughts. “I was with my mother in her final days. I sat with her after she died. I held Elinor after death and said goodbye. I’m still angry, at times, like yesterday, but on the whole I’ve come to accept that my darling girl has gone. Bernie’s absence from this world seems impossible. I am still so angry with her for leaving and angry with myself for telling her to go. I didn’t see her in death and so I cannot accept that she’s gone. That’s the problem. Oh God, What shall I do?”

After the events of New Years Eve, when Serena allowed her decision to be guided by personal rather than professional reasons, her position as medical director is untenable. It is with a sense of relief that she presses the send button on her letter of resignation to Max. Right on cue, her inbox pings and the name Alex Dawson appears.  
“What on earth,” Serena mutters. Her first instinct is to delete the email without reading it. After the emotional roller coaster of the last two days she has no desire to enter into a correspondence with Bernie’s ex lover. Curiosity gets the better of her, however. They had, after all, parted on cordial terms and if Bernie had cared for Alex then she couldn’t be all bad. 

Hi Serena,  
Happy New Year. I’m in Aldershot for a couple of weeks running cadet training course on guerrilla warfare. I’ve got something to ask you. Could we meet? Please. Alex.  
Oh God, Serena rests her forehead in her hands. What now? Her finger hovers over the delete button.  
“Please don’t,” says a voice inside her head.  
Reluctantly she replies, suggesting a time and a place on Saturday. 

Serena has chosen a city centre pub known for its good food. She’s never been there before, so there are no memories. When she arrives Alex is already there, nursing a pint of lager. Serena orders a glass of Shiraz and sits down opposite Alex.  
“How are you?” she asks, more out of politeness than genuine concern.  
“Good,” replies Alex. “I’m doing alright. How are you?”  
“Alright, just. Why do you want to see me Alex? If it’s anything to do with Bernie I really think we have said all there is to say, don’t you?”  
“It’s not to do with Bernie. At least not directly.” Serena raises her eyebrows.  
“The hospital in Mogadishu has been rebuilt. I heard via the RAMC grapevine that they desperately need a senior vascular surgeon. Bernie was always banging on about what a brilliant surgeon you are. She really believed in the work of this hospital. She was held in such high esteem, a one-time colleague of hers would be more than welcomed. What about it?”  
“What about it?”  
“Apply for it.”  
“What on earth gives you the right to ask me to leave everything and fly to the other side of the world?”  
“Bernie. You loved her. She was passionate about the hospital. She loved you more than she ever loved me, and professionally she regarded you as the number one in your field. She loved Africa too. She once said that when she eventually went home to you, she would leave a little piece of herself in Africa.”  
“That’s true. There’s a little piece of my heart still there. The rest was all yours. Believe me.” That voice again. Whoever it is, her imagination, Bernie, some God she refuses believe in, who knows? But all the same she listens. “Find me there and say goodbye.”

23rd March 2020

It’s taken a while, but she is here. The Skype interview was easy and she was offered the job immediately. There were injections to be had, visa applications to be made, goodbyes to be said.  
Telling Jason had been easier than she had anticipated. “I didn’t go to Nairobi with Bernie because Guinevere had just been born and you and Greta needed me. But you are managing perfectly well now, and if you ever need me I am only a plane journey away.”  
“You said that once before,” Jason said accusingly, “and I asked then why then you couldn’t just visit Auntie Bernie and she said because with each visit the saying goodbye was harder.”  
“I remember her saying that. Jason, it’s always hard saying goodbye to people we love. I’ve got to do this to say goodbye to Bernie, do you understand?”  
“I think so.”  
Cameron understood too. She apologised for the hurtful words, reassured him that they were only said in anger, that his mother had been brave and honourable and, moreover, had been proud of him. He has promised to visit soon, to see for himself where his mother worked and died.  
Tomorrow will be her first day at work. She has already met her colleagues and has a feeling of pleasant anticipation at the thought of working with them. Right now she is sitting on the veranda of her bungalow, the sun on her face.  
“Ah, the African sun,” Bernie whispers. “You’re going to love it.”


End file.
